Cleo's Game

20. Second Wind

The stone walls of the cave now functioned as a dimly lit arena. Both sides were gladiators in the sense that it really was 'kill or be killed', and neither side was ever going to choose the latter. Both Mince's and Tranquility's hands were empty, as opposed to the short, standard-issue blades that were wielded by the soldiers. "They're circling us..." Mince noted, with gritted teeth.

He looked down at the wounded Cleo. His "rival" of sorts, but that's not how it felt. At least, not after that time in the dark tunnels. Having each other's back when nobody else was around. Those empty, silent tunnels were the polar opposite of what it was like back at that gossipy base. The context of war and struggle did little to change the fact that it was full of teenagers.

Cleo and Mince were never supposed to be friends. Cleo's the commander's little sister, so it's obviously a no-go. Probably only in her rank due to nepotism, and definitely telling everything she hears to her brother. Between seeing her determination during the mission, her ingenuity, and her raw power, each of his preconceptions was smashed away one by one. Maybe Cleo was alright after all.

The soldiers were closing in on Mince. "Shit. I can't die here. I'm not going to die here. I'll just... Hm..." He couldn't think of a solution within his mind. As if he were being possessed, his hand started to twitch. "Oh, wait!" The muscle memory started to kick in, jolting a fresh plan straight into his head. His hand made some quick, practiced gestures.

Suddenly, his hands weren't so empty anymore, as he wielded a dagger of wind in his hand. Whether it really had a length was subjective, but as you got closer to the hilt, it was the difference between feeling a light breeze and a deep laceration. It was only visible via the displacement of the air around it.

The soldier was confident as he readied his blade, able to deliver an unopposed blow. He made a wide slicing motion, only for the steel to be halted by nothing at all. The motion of the air was so quick and so constant that it was able to parry the sword as if it were solid. Sparks erupted from the collision as the swords jostled. Mince's shorter 'blade' gave him the advantage in the clash, allowing him to exert every ounce of force into pushing back.

As soon as he had pushed back one of the soldiers, knocking him off his balance and to the ground, another was already swinging towards him. His one set of eyes and his air dagger were already too busy handling the first soldier, and his obliviousness rendered him vulnerable to attack. From the corner of his eye, he could see what was happening, but it was too late for him to react.

Fortunately, Tranquility was there to react for him. She gripped his forearm, circumventing the need to engage with the sharp steel directly. "There's no point fighting back, bitch," the soldier crudely taunted. She pulled his hand towards her, outstretching his arm. "There's no point in surrendering either. If I'm going to die, I'd rather take a few of you with me." She slammed his arm down over her knee, her solid kneecap making brutal contact with the outside of his elbow and making a horrific crunching noise.

The soldier let out a scream that caught the attention of his group. Their confident expressions dropped as they looked towards him. His backwards elbow was a symbol, one that pierced into and deflated their notion of invincibility. It showed that a numbers advantage can be temporary. "What are you idiots doing just standing there? Work together, surround them, for fucks sake!" Pitch yelled.

Snapping out of their complacency, five soldiers circled around Tranquility. They charged in, leaving nowhere to run. With one powerful flap of her white, feathered wings, she leapt midair, out of arms reach. Once their target was out of sight, they hesitated their sprint, avoiding a collision but causing a loss of balance. Seeing an opportunity to take advantage of, Mince took aim at the vulnerable soldiers who had their backs turned. He prepared his wind dagger, only to be knocked flying by the soldier who didn't join in with the rest.

Mince wasted no time getting back to his feet, eyeing the assailant up. His armour was different from the rest of the group. It appeared to be more bulky than the others', perhaps suggesting a rank difference. Mince sent multiple sharp slashes of air across the room, only for them to make a 'tink' sound as they failed to even tickle his thick metal plates. His body, from head to toe, was encased in armour sturdy enough to invalidate Mince's power. In this fight, he fares the same as a regular human would.

Mince wasn't demoralised by this, because there was no point in doing anything other than throwing himself back into the fight. Sprinting back towards the armoured foe, he watched as the same soldier he disarmed earlier had risen to his feet and was standing in the way. Mince eyed up his empty hands, and wondered how much of a threat he could possibly be. He grinned mischievously, much to the dismay of the once-bitten soldier.

When he got within touching distance of the soldier, Mince threw the palms of his hands into his chest. Using the momentum of his sprint, with a strong forward gale to support it, the soldier was sent flying backwards, exactly where Mince wanted him to. Being sent headfirst like a missile, the soldier slammed into the chest plate of the especially thick armour. It sounded like a thousand-year-old gong being slammed by a ceremonial mallet.

The armour dented inward, and one can assume it wasn't the only thing that was dented in the collision. What was also dented was Pitch's pride, which could be heard in the frustrated shout he let out. The tide was changing, and Pitch knew he couldn't rely on lackeys for this fight.

"I'll do it myself."